


“Tell me why.” “Ain’t nothing but a heartache.”

by golden_tragedy



Series: christmas prompts from my groupchat [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Idk what transfer window it happened in, M/M, Neymar is also confused and hurt, Set around the time Neymar is leaving for psg, but communication is key, but for the sake of this story, cris is confused and hurt throughout this entire thing, ik that’s not possible but shhh, it happened before the jan one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28291425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_tragedy/pseuds/golden_tragedy
Summary: Cris found out Neymar was leaving for PSG through Marca. Is it unfair to assume his boyfriend would have told him he was leaving the entire damn country?But it’s Christmas and Neymar is in Madrid for now and they’re going Christmas shopping. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Neymar/Cristiano Ronaldo
Series: christmas prompts from my groupchat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065338
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	“Tell me why.” “Ain’t nothing but a heartache.”

What irritates Cris about this whole situation is that he found out through fucking Marca. 

A goddamn newspaper was the first to inform him that his boyfriend was leaving Spain entirely. He still can’t quite wrap his head around it. 

Leaving the entire country and his club and well, Cris too, at least warranted a passing comment. 

But nothing. 

Radio fucking silence. 

And what made it even more baffling was that Neymar had been living with him for a month, having gotten a longer gap between fixtures. There had been plenty of time to say it. And because of the transfer window closing, he’d be leaving in three days for fucking Paris. 

Cris clenches the steering wheel tightly. He won the match. Scored five goals in the process. And yet it feels even worse than it would’ve if he’d lost. 

He didn’t even celebrate properly. Every time he scored all he could think about was Neymar leaving. Just five months after they started dating. It grated on every nerve of his that he let Neymar have that much of an effect on him. Enough of an effect that he didn’t celebrate his five damn goals. 

He had the irresistible urge to repeatedly slam his head on the steering wheel but he was home now and that would just raise alarm bells. So he settled for gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might break. 

And Cris damned himself to hell for it, because the second Neymar threw the door open and raced out, he smiled. 

Neymar was barefoot, as he usually tended to be, and he pulled the car door open, flung himself onto Cris’s lap and kissed him soundly. 

“Congratulations,” he whispered, mocha eyes shining in the dim light. 

Cris offers him a smile, but can’t quite sell it, if the slight crease between Neymar’s eyebrows is any indication. He doesn’t comment, though, and just gets up so Cris can climb out. 

“Where’s Davi?”

“Tried to put him to sleep but just as I was taking him you scored your goal and he refused to go.”

The moment Cris opens the door, he sees Davi hopping on one foot, grinning ear to ear. He shrieks in excitement and Cris barely gets time to crouch down before he throws his arms around his neck and hugs him. 

“Did you dedicate that goal to me, P- Cris?”

He vaguely remembers blowing a kiss at the camera, so he nods 

“Of course I did!” 

“I knew it!” 

Cris smiles at him, kisses his forehead and stands back up. 

“Come on, upstairs now.” Neymar crosses his arms “you’ve been up for far too long.”

“But-“

“I’ll take him,” Cris picks him up and starts walking upstairs 

Davi’s excited chatter about the match slowly wanes, and by the time he’s finished brushing his teeth, he can barely keep awake. As Cris carries him out of the bathroom, he reflects on how unlike Davi and Neymar look. Except when they’re sleeping. Then they both have the same softness to their faces. Hell, they even sleep the same way. On their stomachs, one leg stretched so far it sometimes hangs off the bed. 

As Cris puts him down onto the bed, Davi smiles sleepily at him before disappearing under the blankets. 

“I’m surprised he didn’t fight you every inch of the way,” Neymar whispers from the door. Cris doesn’t bother turning around. 

“Cris?” 

He turns. 

“Yeah?”

Neymar shakes his head. 

“Come on. I still need to go buy my presents.” 

“One would assume, that as a world famous athlete, you would learn not to go shopping when the majority of Madrid does.”

“Oh shit,” Neymar groans as they leave Davi’s room “I didn’t think about that.”

“I know a smaller market. I don’t think you’ll be able to find the high end stuff there but you’ll at least avoid being mobbed.”

“Good enough for me. Come with?”

“Do I have a choice?” Cris raises an eyebrow, but Neymar grins at him 

“Of course you do, but I know you, and I know you’ll come anyways.”

Cris rolls his eyes and steps out into the cool night air again, this time with Neymar beside him. 

And he didn’t want to get this close to him again, leave some space, because in a few days, there would be nothing between them but space and it was better to be prepared. But Neymar is warm, and he’s watching Cris as he drives and Cris never quite noticed how expressive his eyes were. It almost feels like it did originally. It feels like he’s falling again. He should be concerned that he’s just throwing away every notion of needing space he had. 

But then he says something about sending Messi a goat for Christmas and Neymar laughs so hard he shakes. And then he doesn’t care. 

Fuck Paris. 

That’s something they can address tomorrow. 

“This is adorable,” Neymar practically swoons as the small market comes into view. 

“I know,” he smiles as Neymar all but squeals before hopping out of the car. 

The market is just a few stalls grouped together, with no toys or store bought things. It’s all done by old ladies with knitted blankets, and old vintage frames. Sentimental things in general. 

“Where should we start?” 

“I need to buy something for Leo, Luis and Davi.”

“Well this lady has a bunch of kids’ stuff. You should be able to pick up things for all three over there.” 

“Shut up, asshole.”

“You shut up.”

Neymar rolls his eyes 

“You sound like a fifth grader.”

“I suppose you’d know, playing with Suarez for what, a few years years now?”

“James is more fifth grader-ish than Luis will ever be,”

“You’ve had a vendetta against him for a while with no particular reason, forgive me for not taking that seriously.”

“He has a crush on you, Cris.” Neymar looks up at him in exasperation as he picks between a blanket with red, yellow and black stripes, and one with faint blue and yellow. 

“Don’t give him the damn Germany themed one you’ll give the poor flea PTSD.” Cris rolls his eyes, then continues   
“And as for James, well, there’s nothing to dissuade him from that, is there? We’re both quiet about this to my teammates, as far as poor James knows, I’m single.”

Neymar puts both blankets back down and starts digging into a box. 

“So I should leave the hickeys higher up next time?”

“Don’t you dare. Ah shit. That reminds me. Sergio has a shit ton of hickeys around his v line today. Isn’t Pique in town?”

“Well I mean he disappeared after our last match without saying a word, so probably.”

“Huh. Maybe we should send both of them presents too.”

Neymar pops back up, grinning widely with a dented spoon in his hand. 

“Look at this!” 

“A dented spoon.”

“No, read what’s on it!” Neymar punches his shoulder 

Cris scans the words engraved into the spoon and snorts. 

“It’s perfect.”

It says ‘still having mate together’, and since Cris has practically never seen Messi without that damn drink in his hand, it’s perfect. 

“Now for Luis.”

“Get him a chunk of wood. Beavers like wood.”

Neymar digs into the box again and comes up with a poster. It has a large heart drawn on it and says ‘anatomy of a best friend’ and has such sickly sweet things written inside it that Cris feels the urge to burn it. 

“It’s exactly the type of thing Luis would say he hates, and then hang up in his room.” Neymar nods in satisfaction, then reaches into his wallet and hands the woman her money. 

“Now just Davi.”

“What about that?” Cris nudges him, gesturing towards a small Vespa toy, more for decoration than anything, but if there’s one thing Davi loves, its motorcycles. 

“Huh.” Neymar grins up at him “you have a good eye.”

Cris rolls his eyes and pushes Neymar towards it. Neymar comes back with it. 

“That’s it, I think I’m done.”

“I want to look around for a bit.” Cris says, starting off again. 

“What for? Didn’t you already get everything?”

“Yeah, but I like this place.”

Neymar doesn’t say anything else, just falls into step beside him, and they walk through the narrow pathways created between stalls, presses flush against each other, sharing warmth. 

“Do you want a picture?” 

A lady with an old film camera asks, smiling at them hopefully. 

“It’s film,” Neymar shrugs. “she wouldn’t have another copy.” 

Cris shrugs. 

“Sure. Sounds good.”

They stand close together, Neymar on his toes so he looks taller, and the lady counts down. 

“Three, two, one!”

As she says one, Neymar turns, kissing Cris’s cheek, and unable to help it, Cris grins. The picture takes a few seconds to come out, but when it does, it’s black and white, and they look perfectly in love. 

“You keep it.” Neymar offers it to him. 

Cris hands the woman her money, then turns around and pushes the picture back in Neymar’s direction. 

“No, you keep it. Something to remember me by in Paris.”

Neymar freezes. 

“Is that why your mood’s been off today?”

Cris can’t quite bring himself to answer. Neymar sighs. 

“I did this for me, Cris. And nothing anyone could have said would have changed it.”

Cris scoffs. 

“You think I would’ve tried to stop you?”

Neymar crosses his arms. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t important.” Neymar says through visibly gritted teeth, lips turning white as he presses them together, eyes flashing. 

Cris scoffs out a laugh

“Neymar! You’re leaving Spain! You’re moving to France for a record transfer fee! You’re leaving Barca! You’re leaving me! I think it is important enough to at least mention in passing!”

His voice gets louder with every word, and at a hiss from Neymar, he lowers it. 

“You don’t understand.” Neymar practically spits 

“You’re right I don’t.” Cris hisses back 

“Just get in the damn car.” 

“No!” Cris plants his feet firmly where he’s standing. 

“Cris I swear-“

“What? What are you going to do? Tell me something else you’ve been hiding that will directly affect-“

“You? Directly affect you?” Neymar doesn’t seem to care about keeping it quiet, because he’s shouting now 

“Us!” Cris shouts right back 

“Why do I need to tell you anything?” Neymar’s turning red despite the biting chill. 

“You don’t need to tell me anything! That’s not what this is about! I just want to know why? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

“Just...let’s go home.” Neymar spins on his heel and walks towards the car. 

Rolling his eyes, Cris follows. The ride back is tense. They don’t say a word. Barely even look at each other. Cris can’t entirely help muttering silently under his breath. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s not mad Neymar didn’t tell him. He just wants to know why he didn’t tell him. 

If there’s anyone who would understand furthering your career, it’s Cris. 

If there’s anyone who understands that football is above everything else, it’s Cris. 

Hell, he went to a country he hated, didn’t speak to his family and cried himself to sleep every night when he was thirteen, all for what he has today. 

He doesn’t understand why Neymar didn’t tell him. 

Maybe he shouldn’t make such a big deal out of it. 

No. He doesn’t care that Neymar didn’t tell him, all he wants to know is why. Because he doesn’t trust him? Because he doesn’t really want to be in a relationship and is trying to slowly drive in that point? 

They reach home and Neymar heads to a guestroom instead of Cris’s room, and when Cris wakes up in the morning, there is no Davi and no Neymar. 

There is a glass bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. No, not pills. Little capsules. There’s a fluorescent pink sticky note on the lid and Cris reads it. It’s just a few words: 

Read the black one first

He unscrews it and pulls out the only black one, formerly pink, but scribbled over with black market. The capsule’s tip flips open and there’s a piece of paper inside. 

He isn’t entirely sure how such a tiny capsule fit such a large piece of paper, but he doesn’t wonder about it too long. 

It’s short and to the point, the letters half smudged with now dried liquid that was probably tears. 

“I made a mistake, Cris, I made a terrible mistake. I signed a contract with goddamn psg. It was a terrible mistake and you were my sanctuary. This one last place that was completely untouched by every way I fucked my life up. I didn’t tell you for that. I’m sorry, but I needed this. Someone who’d didn’t ask questions, or even care. Someone who just wanted to be with me and talk about anything except that. I’m sorry. I probably confused you and hurt you and I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to. Me and Davi have left, I wanted to give you some space. I’m in Paris a few weeks earlier now. I love you and please call me whenever you feel up to it.”

Cris drops the paper and it flutters onto the table. 

Then he races out the door. 

He runs all the way to the main road where he hails a cab and drives to the airport, frantically checking the Paris flight timings. 

His heart practically sinks. 

It’s left. It left five minutes ago. 

The next flight isn’t for a week. Well, there were benefits to being rich. He calls Jorge. 

“Hey, Jorge I need the jet in about twenty minutes for Paris. Make it happen.” 

And his agent, saint that he is, somehow got the pilot to show up in time and forced the airport to let him take off. 

He feels bad for the people who’s flights got delayed. Almost. 

In all honesty, he isn’t thinking about much other than needing to catch Neymar at the airport because he doesn’t know where he lives, and if Neymar leaves the airport, then he’s gone. 

It’s only when his pilot politely disguises his gasp of disbelief as a cough that he realises he hasn’t brushed his teeth or changed his clothes and he’s in the ratty pyjamas with the hole just above his ass. Far too late for that now, he mutters as he races up the staircase to the jet, skipping the stairs three at a time. 

The flight is spent in near panic. He bounces his leg when he needs to sit, but when he’s allowed to stand he paces relentlessly. 

It makes sense, of course. Everything makes so much more sense. 

Despite being in a jet and going significantly faster than Neymar in a normal plane, there’s still the worry that he might miss him. What if he gets held up by people? What if someone gets a picture of him running out in Paris in pyjamas with holes in them and Jorge calls to yell at him? 

He throws himself back down into the seat, putting his head between his knees and forces a few deep breaths. 

If he misses Neymar at the airport, he can bribe the authorities into telling him where he lives. It’ll probably just take an autograph and a picture. If someone gets a picture of him, Jorge will know how to get it off the face of the earth in 0.2 seconds flat. 

It will all work out. 

Eventually, after a long long time of keeping his head between his knees, the plane lands. 

He runs out again, shouting a thank you and waving over his shoulder at his pilot. Then he finds a porter and asks him where Neymar is. 

It’s simple. Porters know everything. And even though he looks homeless, he’s still cristiano Ronaldo, and the porter is awestruck as points toward a baggage claim area. And from there it’s simple. Neymar isn’t particularly good at subtlety. 

Davi spots him first. Cris holds a finger to his lips and points to the empty first class lounge. 

He goes in, waits for Neymar to come, and as soon as the door shuts behind him, he damn near flies forward, so fast that Neymar stumbles back a few steps

“What-“

Cris is just lowering his head to kiss him until he can barely breathe before he remembers he hasn’t brushed his teeth. He pushes Neymar back away. A healthy five feet. 

“What are you doing?” Neymar looks around in bewilderment. 

“You’re a fucking dumbass, that’s what’s happening. Come home now. Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp that happened. I’ll continue this one in the next prompt from the gc. Please leave a comment and tell me what you think, it really helps.


End file.
